Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  I regretted falling into this trap consoling Adrienne.

  “I’m tired because—” I stopped, about to spill the beans on Dakota’s secret wedding and Keith and Becca’s elopement. “Because you’ve been changing things at the last minute!”

  I regretted snapping. My nerves were brittle and jangly, what with being bathed in a steady flow of coffee.

  “May I ask a question?” Adrienne’s icy blue eyes narrowed in pretend concern.

  “I’m not sure I could stop you if I tried,” I blurted out.

  “How long have you been dating Garrett?”

  I stood up, ready to end this conversation. “I’m not sure why that’s any of your business.”

  “Just since last summer, right?” Adrienne answered the question for herself. “Then it’s not that serious,” she mused, studying her flawless manicure. She stopped, suddenly more serious. “Summer seems quite attached to you. I wanted to suggest you not get too close.”

  I stared her down, imaginary laser beams shooting from my eyes. “I beg your pardon?” I asked in my quietest voice possible.

  Adrienne stood, easily besting me in the height department by half a foot. “Summer only has one mother, and that’s me.”

  I swallowed and stared up at her, gathering my thoughts for a response.

  Adrienne moved in for the kill. “Garrett and I were engaged, you know.”

  For some reason, this hit me in the stomach like a swift kick. I’d known about Adrienne’s existence, but not that Garrett had asked her to marry him. “So make no mistake. I know him quite well.” Adrienne filled the silence and offered me a small smile. “Take this advice however you see fit. I’m not really sure if you and Garrett are right for one another.” And with that, she flounced off, leaving me to set the glass elephant carefully back into place with shaking hands.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, the weather turned cold again. The sky was a canvas of leaden clouds, the sun nowhere to be seen. The air smelled faintly metallic, the way it did before it snowed. The early spring the groundhog had predicted and that we’d all been enjoying for several days seemed like a fluke that was about to be viciously snatched away.

  My emotions mirrored the freakishly erratic weather. My will to stay calm was plummeting like the mercury in the antique brass thermometer on the kitchen window. I’d stomped off after Adrienne’s little advice session, vowing not to let her verbal smack down get to me. I hadn’t succeeded.

  Adrienne’s dress-down plagued my thoughts as I burned the midnight oil in the library making travel arrangements and booking a ceremony for Keith and Becca in St. Kitts. I’d talked to five incredulous travel agents before I was able to cobble together a posh honeymoon suite, dinner for two, and a beachside ceremony complete with minister, flowers and a tiny reception. I’d finally lucked out and found an all-inclusive luxury resort that had an opening due to another couple’s cancellation.

  I’d trudged up to my third-floor apartment by 4 AM. I tossed and turned for what was left of the night as the winds from the west whipped against Thistle Park, bringing a cold front and the promise of snow.

  And I wasn’t the only one affected by the weather.

  I arrived in the kitchen to make breakfast for my guests to find Owen straddling a kitchen chair, his laptop in front of him, and a mug of coffee beside it. Dakota sat beside him, their heads bent together in conference, planning Ginger’s memorial service, which was to take place the morning of Dakota’s wedding day. Whiskey, my beggar calico, meowed and pawed at my jeans when she realized I’d be making breakfast. I bent down to scratch her pretty mottled orange and black ears and promised her a piece of bacon later.

  “It’s too cold to release butterflies,” Dakota mused, nearly brushing Owen’s ear with her hair. “But we could put them on the program.”

  “Consider it done.” Owen typed up a few sentences and stroked his auburn beard. Today he wore red suspenders over his Campbell plaid shirt and a cozy knit cap. I realized with a start that it was a piece Dakota had been knitting just last night, a mixed yarn beanie of red and navy and green. “I can’t believe Ginger’s really gone.”

  I heard the distinctive clop of cowboy boots on the back stairs.

  Uh-oh.

  “Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day,” crooned Beau, nearly skipping off the last step. “What do we have here? Oh.”

  He stopped short as he observed his fiancée sitting next to Owen.

  “We’re planning Ginger’s memorial,” Dakota explained, motioning to the chair next to her. “Have a seat, darling. Help us come up with ideas.” Dakota’s face was pleading and nervous. Beau stared at Owen with a dueling look in his bright blue eyes and made no moves.

  “Has anyone seen my—oh.” Rachel padded into the kitchen in her silky robe and stopped short when she saw Beau. She tied the knot around her waist tighter in a wary and defensive stance. “Why hello, there.” She lit up when she saw Owen. “Are you ready for our date tonight?”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. I’m looking forward to it.” Owen offered my sister a warm smile. He stood with a wistful look at Dakota, a lock of hair falling over his thick-framed glasses.

  “I should actually be going now. Nice to see you, Beau.” He shouldered on his corduroy coat and slipped out the back door before Dakota could even protest.

  Beau snorted and moved to get a cup of coffee.

  Dakota looked stricken, at Owen’s leaving, his reminder of his date with Rachel, and Beau’s angst.

  “I didn’t really believe you two used to knock boots until now.” Beau turned around, an annoyed look marring his good looks. His countrified voice rang false in his anger, and it modulated back to New Jersey.

  Dakota said nothing, her silence speaking volumes.

  “You lied to me.” Beau’s bright blue eyes darkened and he set down the mug of coffee.

  That’s rich, since you’re a cheating lothario.

  I could see Rachel agreed with my sentiment. She rolled her eyes and moved to get her own cup of coffee.

  “Rach, let’s go.”

  “But—”

  I nearly pulled my sister from the kitchen and together we huddled in the breakfast room.

  “Looks like the old karma boomerang has made its return trip to smack Beau upside the head,” she gleefully sang, holding up her coffee cup in salute.

  “Shh,” I counseled, leaning closer to the swinging door. But I couldn’t help privately agreeing.

  “I don’t even want to do this show anymore, Dakota,” Beau’s voice rang out. “This was just supposed to help our careers.”

  “Maybe this marriage is just to help your career,” was her icy rejoinder.

  I had to press my ear to the door to get the next bit. “And just so you know, I was never officially an item with Owen.”

  I raised my brows at my sister, who let out a sigh of relief.

  “That’s just because your mom wouldn’t let you,” Beau spat back at her.

  That’s interesting.

  We heard the kitchen door slam again, and Beau was off on a walk in the back garden, the snow spiraling around him like a passel of angry white honeybees. He stomped off toddler style, little puffs of ice crystals swirling in the air with each crash down of his cowboy boots. Dakota chased after him in the swirling snow, neither one wearing coats or hats in their haste.

  “He’s right, you know.”

  “Argh!”

  Rachel and I jumped a mile when we realized someone had caught us listening in on Beau and Dakota. We whirled around to face Roxanne sheepishly.

  She sighed and sat down at the breakfast room table. She patted her lap and Pixie made an impressive leap up. Roxanne and Pixie were wearing matching outfits today, both in little cream crochet sweaters. Roxanne wore a red headband in her platinum-dyed hair, and Pixie sported a similar crimson bow. “I kept Dakota and Owen apart,” Roxanne admitted. “And I’d do it again. That boy was going to ruin her career. She
would have given it all up to be with him.”

  My disgust for Roxanne curdled in my stomach.

  “What happened to Caitlin Quinn on set was awful. But it freed my daughter to come back to Port Quincy.” Roxanne shuddered, causing the Shih Tzu to gaze up at her in alarm. “I don’t want her falling under Owen’s spell again. I can’t have that happen.” And with that, Roxanne set off after her daughter and future son-in-law into the blizzard. At least she’d donned her leather coat before she’d left the B and B. She slid and righted herself on the slick brick herringbone walkway, determined to follow her daughter.

  “What an awful woman.” I turned from the window. “She kept her daughter from the one she loves just so Dakota could be a star and Roxanne could ride her coattails.”

  Pixie whined, pawing at the window seat as her mistress set off in the snow. I picked the Shih Tzu up and held her under my chin, earning a dark glare from Soda the kitten.

  Rachel was strangely silent.

  “What if Dakota did something to Caitlin?” Her voice was high and thin.

  “Oh, come on, Rach, Caitlin’s death was an accident. Something about a gas leak.”

  “Yes, but what if Dakota made it happen? You heard Adrienne.” Rachel was insistent. “It sounds like Dakota would have done anything to get off that show—she was miserable.”

  “Are you suggesting an eighteen-year-old Dakota climbed into the bowels of the set with a wrench and created a gas leak?” I chuckled. “That’s preposterous.”

  “You’re just taking the bride’s side because she’s famous.”

  “No, I just don’t think Dakota is capable of murder.”

  And you might just want to accuse Dakota because Owen is still interested in her, despite your date, and despite the fact Dakota is engaged.

  I let the matter drop. My sister and I went about our day, straightening up the guest rooms and attending to business matters. As the sun set, Rachel sighed and glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to find a suitable outfit. I want to look perfect for my date with Owen.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You’re not going out with him in this weather, are you?” The snow had continued, off and on throughout the day.

  She shrugged. “Why not? He said his Subaru is all-wheel drive. We’ll be fine.”

  I followed my sister to help her get ready for her date, Pixie trotting close behind. The little Shih Tzu made herself at home in the apartment portion of Thistle Park, and promptly commandeered a little cat bed Whiskey usually dozed in in our living room.

  Rachel flipped through her large closet with increasingly frantic movements, taking out shirts and sweaters and dresses and rejecting each article of clothing. Her normal femme fatale wardrobe didn’t seem to cut it for her date with the young philanthropist Owen. He didn’t seem the type that would go for her usual come-hither getups.

  “I need something a little more . . . understated,” Rachel mused, fingering a celadon sequined miniskirt and ultimately rejecting it. “Something safe so as not to come on too strong.” She frowned and twisted a lock of honey-kissed brown hair around her sparkly nails. “Frankly, I need something a little bit safe and boring.” She perked up. “Can I raid your closet?”

  I rolled my eyes at the backhanded compliment only my sister could give and marched down the hall to my bedroom.

  “Have at it.” I flung open my closet doors and waited in amusement while Rachel went digging. Ten minutes later, she’d assembled her outfit. She wore dark blue skinny jeans, boots trimmed in faux white fur, and my white sweater that reached my waist, but on my sister, exposed a healthy swath of inexplicably tanned midriff. She completed the outfit by snatching my snowflake earrings from my dresser drawer with promises to return them.

  “You look perfect.” My sister did look wonderful. I think I was more excited for her return to the dating world than she was.

  Except I don’t quite trust Owen.

  Rachel skillfully applied quite a bit of makeup that somehow made her look like she wasn’t wearing any at all. Her most arresting feature was the hungry praying mantis look in her pretty green eyes. It had been over three months since my sister had sworn off men, and she looked eager to start dating again.

  Watch out, Owen. She’s a man eater.

  Maybe it was Owen I had to worry about, rather than my sister

  “How do I look?” Rachel executed a neat twirl, her wavy caramel hair fanning out around her.

  “Wonderful, per usual.” I frowned as I took in her minuscule purse. “You still have that mace you’re saving up for Beau, right?”

  Rachel rolled her eyes and applied another coat of mascara to her sable lashes. “I have something even better.” She whirled around and opened the small handbag, extracting a long, coiled strip of leather.

  “And just what is that?” I moved to unroll what looked like a rope, when Rachel flicked her wrist, and a long whip unfurled. She snapped it against the claw-foot tub, snaring a bottle of shampoo in the process, like an Amazonian, female Indiana Jones.

  My mouth opened in a little o and Rachel left me in the bathroom, laughing and running down the steps to answer the newly rung front door.

  Okay, I definitely don’t have to worry about my sister. She can hold her own, and then some.

  “You look amazing.” Owen picked Rachel up promptly at seven, carrying a small spray of pink roses. He’d dressed up for the occasion, wearing skinny wool gray pants, a tightly checked navy gingham shirt, and a little polka-dot bow tie. He’d swapped out his cloth suspenders for leather ones, and the hat Dakota must have knitted for him was gone, his glossy auburn locks now under a jaunty felt newsy hat. He took in my sister with a warm and appreciative glance, and I chastised myself for worrying about his motives.

  “Mallory, please put these in some water.” Rachel beamed and nearly skipped out the door, hand in hand with Owen, her boots crunching in the newest layer of freshly fallen snow.

  “Call me if you have any trouble!” My voice rang out into the blizzard before I could stop myself, and Rachel turned around and stuck out her tongue at me.

  Oh, real mature.

  Then she turned back around and offered me a wink.

  But as I watched my sister advance down the walk under the increasingly heavier snowfall, my trepidation returned. Owen opened the door of his dark green Subaru and tucked my sister inside, a gallant philanthropist hipster if there ever was one. But what if he was Ginger’s killer? I’d be counting down the hours until my sister returned from her date.

  I turned in the direction of the muted sniffles I heard emanating from the parlor, where Dakota was watching Owen help Rachel into his car. I was about to offer her a cup of tea when a navy BMW struggled to advance down the drive.

  * * *

  I couldn’t get over the irony of planning my once-cheating fiancé Keith’s nuptials to the woman he’d stepped out on me with. Keith helped Becca up the increasingly icy walk and onto the porch. Becca slipped through the front door with a panicked look cast over her left shoulder.

  “I think she’s on to us,” she breathed, her left eyelid displaying an impressive tic.

  “Who?” Keith shook off a flock of snow onto the marble floor and stepped back to take a look at the renovated B and B. His mouth fell open in apparent surprise when he saw the delicate yet massive glass chandelier fashioned from peach, blush, and yellow bird figurines. The last time he’d been in the house, he’d let himself in with his grandmother’s key and tried to find and pilfer some valuable paintings. He hadn’t yet seen the masterful renovation pulled off by my contractor, Jesse Flowers, and the gorgeous decorating job my mother had achieved just this October.

  “Your mother, of course!” Becca whirled around to stare out the keyhole. She performed a jittery jump when Keith moved to take off her long, snow-dotted overcoat.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place,” Keith muttered, insincerity lacing each word. “I’m not so sure Grandma Sylvia would approve, though.” Sylv
ia had passed away a few weeks before I was to marry Keith last July, and had left me Thistle Park in a surprise move, disinheriting Keith and Helene.

  “Sylvia would adore the fact that her house is being used to host people and offer them a wonderful time while they’re in Port Quincy.” I spoke with firm conviction. I sometimes thought I’d been fulfilling Sylvia’s secret plans for me to a T. “Besides”—I couldn’t resist getting in a jab—“she left me the house to do what I see fit with it.” I offered an annoyed Keith a sweet smile and motioned for him and Becca to follow me to the library. He wiped now dripping snow from his receding hairline and followed me with a huff. I still wasn’t ready to host couples in my office, or the scene of the crime, as I liked to think of it now.

  “Here we are.” I spread their itinerary papers on the low-slung coffee table and beamed. Keith and Becca certainly were not my favorite people, but I was proud of the work I’d done whipping them up a tropical elopement in the span of a mere twenty-four hours.

  “You’ll need to leave right away to get to the Pittsburgh airport on time. Check-in is in two hours, and the roads must be pretty bad. Your flight leaves at nine with a connection in La Guardia. I booked you the nicest honeymoon suite at the Paradise Gardens resort. Becca, you’ll have a white strapless silk gown, size two, waiting in the room. Keith, your tux will be there as well. Tomorrow you’ll marry at five p.m., just before sunset, on the beach. I’ve arranged for dinner in the private dining room, and dancing with the other guests at the resort if you so choose.”

  I waited expectantly for their adulation, but Keith just nodded as if this were all a matter of course.

  Figures.

  I hadn’t realized it until our engagement dissolved, but growing up as Port Quincy’s most wealthy and favored son had given Keith an air of expectancy that everyone would do his bidding. He blinked his gray eyes impassively and waited for me to wrap up this meeting.